Hey, all. It has been a very long time since I've come around here, but I still see some of the same faces (usernames?). I rarely write fanfiction anymore but this idea came to me in the shower yesterday and I feel like it's going to be a really great story. I can't wait to keep writing on! I've revamped my profile to be a bit more up to date and I changed by pen name (I used to be Mirany Stone and then hans-the-hero). Sorry for the long author's note but I wanted to sort of introduce myself again before hand. Check out my other Cats stories if you've never seen me before, it would mean a lot to me if some of my old stuff got a little love again! Please enjoy this story (the little start that I have), check back often and don't forget to review! Love you all :)
Pouncival remembered his college graduation like it was yesterday. Walking down the aisle to the horrendous tune of Pomp and Circumstance, lining up in alphabetical order with a swath of other graduates who he barely knew and whose faces blurred into nothingness in his memory. He recalled the tough, blue polyester gowns and the unbearable heat trapped inside them and the throwing of the graduation caps with yellow tassels. He had thought it was all rather silly, how much of a damn celebration they put on each year. Every year, another class would leave school. It's not like his class was the first to do so, yet the school staff, administration, parents, and even local businesses acted like the Class of 2011's graduation was the first of it's kind, as they had before and as they would in the years to come. Pouncival's graduation was a boring spectacle, but it paled compared to the stiff routine he had fallen into come September.
He spent his summer on the beaches of southern Spain, with a gaggle of friends who had soon left to live their own lives shortly after Pouncival had returned home to London.
Pouncival found a dull job at a pub that barely covered his rent, but since his parent's early death in a cruise fire in December, it was only something with what to occupy his mind. He had received all of his parents' money upon their premature deaths and only a small fraction went to various charities and their joint funeral. He still lived in a dungy apartment in the suburbs of London, and the money that didn't pay for his everyday life lay dormant in a bank account for future use.
Every day, Pouncival would go to work. He would clean tables, bartend, stop fights, kick people out, get meager tips, possibly chat a girl up if she seemed cute and alone, and go home, rarely with a queen. They never stayed late enough for his shift to end. The job was possibly the least fun someone could have while still being in a pub.
Early on the cold morning of April 12th, Pouncival had not slept a wink, despite going to bed at 9 PM. He sullenly stared at the glaring red LED of his alarm clock, which read 1:37 AM. His bleary eyes made the two tiny statues on his dresser blend and warp together. When he opened his eyes again, the clock read 2:16 AM. Those two statues, two gaudy carousel horses, seemed to leer at him, frothing at the mouths over the golden bits. He blinked, and they stood still.
His mother had given those statues to him after her and Pouncival's father had gone on a trip to Italy. He could still remember the crisp tissue paper his mother had lovingly wrapped them in before giving them to him. Pouncival was seven.
Where had they gone on that vacation again? Vienna. No, Venice. Venice. It was truly the city of mystery, romance, and canals. Pouncival had never seen a canal before.
He dreamt of golden carousels and a deep, black canal that he could not swim to the surface of.